The house felt quieter after Anne left.
Not emptier—just quieter, in the way a room feels when a familiar rhythm disappears. Anne had never been loud, but she had filled the space with small, constant movements: the soft clink of cups in the morning, the hum she barely noticed herself making while sweeping, the way she always announced the time without realizing she did.
Her retirement came a bit earlier than planned, partially egged on by Aveline herself. Now old enough to have started her own business, Aveline would insist that Anne finally take the brake she so deserved. Anne promised to keep her secret of being Mistress Evora, and was slightly sad to be leaving Aveline, the child she had raised herself, but understood that Aveline had all grown up.
Aveline promised to write to her often, along with a promise of funding her and her family. Now that she was earning her own money, she was going to allow her own people to live without worry.
When she returned to her hometown, the silence settled in naturally.
Aveline adjusted to it without complaint.
Her days began early, as they always had. She dressed herself most mornings.
Not out of pride, but habit.
That day, Aveline was dressed with quiet elegance—nothing ostentatious, yet unmistakably refined.
She wore a high-collared dress in deep forest green, the fabric soft but structured, tailored to allow ease of movement rather than rigid nobility. The sleeves were long and fitted, embroidered subtly at the cuffs with fine silver thread in simple geometric patterns. A fitted bodice flowed into a layered skirt that fell just above her ankles, practical enough for walking through workshops and orphanage halls, yet graceful in its drape. Around her waist was a narrow leather belt, more utilitarian than decorative, from which hung a small pouch—unassuming, but clearly well-used. Her auburn hair was partially braided and pinned back, the rest falling freely down her back, keeping it out of her face without the stiffness of courtly styling.
By midmorning, the new maids would arrive.
Everett had chosen them personally from the main Faylinn estate—women he trusted, women who knew how to keep their heads down and their mouths shut. They came in pairs or trios, never staying too long, never asking questions they did not want answers to.
They tidied the rooms, replaced linens, and polished surfaces that did not truly need polishing.
They did not linger.
Their eyes would occasionally drift to the strange warmth that lingered in the house even during colder days, or to the way Aveline's workroom remained locked at all times—but none of them spoke of it.
Aveline preferred it that way.
She would offer them tea before they left. They never accepted. But the refusal was always one of politeness.
To them, she was still the cursed daughter.
But she was also the unofficial lady of the house. But that was her.
Her father had all but left her to rot in the annex. Unaware and uncaring about what his daughter was getting at. After anna left, even the funds Anna would get for expenditure stopped. It's as if her father had forgotten she even existed. And the maids knew that too. The only reason they still kept quiet and worked was because they knew Everett was keeping an eye out.
And so they bowed, worked, and departed, leaving the house in quiet order once more.
When the door closed behind them, Aveline returned to her routines.
Ledgers spread across her desk. Notes written in her precise hand. Calculations for materials, output, wages. The slow, invisible work that supported the warmth spreading through the slums and workshops beyond her walls.
Anne had once asked her if she ever felt lonely.
Aveline had not answered then.
Now, sitting alone in the quiet house, she realized the truth was simpler than it sounded.
She was not lonely.
She was focused.
***************************
By late morning, Aveline was already out in the city.
She preferred visiting her businesses in person. Letters could summarize numbers, but they could not show her frayed threads, tired hands, or the subtle shift in morale that only appeared when one stood among the workers themselves.
The workshop hummed with life.
Fabric rolled across long tables, scissors flashed, and the steady rhythm of hands at work filled the air. The scent of cloth and dye clung to everything. Aveline moved through the space without ceremony, nodding to familiar faces until she reached the office tucked into the far corner.
Inside, the manager was already waiting.
Maribel looked up from a stack of ledgers, her dark hair pulled into a tight braid. She rises from where she's sitting and greets Aveline. "Mistress Evora," she said. "I didn't expect you so early."
Aveline smiled faintly. "You say that every time. One would hope you'd start expecting it"
"It is but a hope that you'd take some time to rest once in a while" Maribel moved to grab the ledger, almost a practice now.
Aveline took the chair at her desk, skimming through the documents. "Maribel, we really need to do something about this horrid writing of yours. Does this say 200 plants grown?"
Maribel snorted. "200 pieces sold, ma'am. I apologize, but sometimes when I start writing fast, I don't pay much notice to how it all looks."
They leaned over the desk together, going through figures with easy familiarity. Profit margins. Material costs. A brief discussion about replacing a worn loom. Nothing urgent. Nothing dramatic.
Just work.
Halfway through, the door creaked open without a knock.
"I knew I'd find you here."
Aveline didn't look up. "You're late."
Everett grinned as he stepped inside. "And you're predictable."
"It seems my dear older brother has started to get too comfortable with the work we have. So much so it seems he's pushed in on all us while he focuses on his own guild, wouldn't you say Maribel."
Everett leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "I helped fund this place. Comfort is a right."
He wore a dark charcoal coat tailored to his broad frame, layered over a crisp ivory shirt. The coat was fastened with simple metal clasps rather than jewels, its design clean and understated. A sash in muted blue—Faylinn colors, though deliberately toned down—rested at his waist, holding a ledger tucked neatly under one arm. His trousers were well-fitted, his boots polished but scuffed just enough to suggest frequent use rather than ceremonial wear.
"You helped," Aveline corrected. "I built."
He placed a hand over his chest. "Cruelty. Are you in your rebellious phase? Bit late for it now, isn't it?"
Maribel closed the ledger and stood. "I'll check in on the workers and the stock."
Once the door shut, Everett dropped into the spare chair. "So," he said lightly, "how many hours of sleep did you get?"
"Enough."
"That wasn't a number."
"I've had enough of numbers after reading the report. I don't want to see another number this whole day" she says while rubbing her eyes.
He laughed. "Oh poor princess, is a successful business giving you a hard time?"
Aveline rolled her eyes and slid a folded note across the desk. "These figures need approval."
Everett scanned it once before signing it.
"Are the maids working well?"
"They come. They work. They leave. That's all they need to do, really. Not that I need maids."
"Well you clearly do. God knows whether you'll sleep at all if you had to look after that place on top of the business as well. Let your big brother worry about home while you focus on the business."
She glanced at him. "You're enjoying this too much."
"Of course I am," he replied. "You're doing well. And I get to watch."
For a moment, the banter softened. Just slightly.
Then Aveline stood. "Come on. I have two more stops."
Everett rose with a sigh. "A day with my brilliant sister, drowning in numbers. How lucky am I."
"You're free to leave."
"And miss this?" He shook his head. "Never."
Together, they stepped back into the noise of the workshop—another ordinary day unfolding exactly as it should.
*****************************************
By the time they reached Haven's Hearth, the sun had begun its slow descent, painting the stone streets in soft gold.
The orphanage stood apart from the surrounding buildings—not grand, but unmistakably cared for. Warm brick walls enclosed a wide courtyard, ivy trained carefully along the outer edges rather than left to grow wild. Tall windows let in generous light, and smoke curled gently from the chimneys, carrying the scent of bread and herbs.
Everett slowed his steps. "It's quieter than the workshop," he said.
"Only on the surface," Aveline replied.
The moment they passed through the gates, sound bloomed.
Laughter rang from the courtyard where several children chased one another, their steps uneven but joyful. Near the far wall, older children sat on benches with slates balanced on their knees, carefully copying letters while a woman corrected them with patient murmurs. Under a shaded awning, a group practiced basic arithmetic using carved wooden counters, arguing loudly over the correct answers.
Aveline paused, taking it in.
Inside the main building, the halls were wide and clean, floors scrubbed smooth by constant care. The walls were lined with shelves—books in one corridor, baskets of thread and cloth in another. Nothing was wasted. Nothing was excessive.
A small boy ran past them clutching a loaf nearly half his size.
"Slow down!" a woman called after him, though her tone held more fondness than reprimand.
Everett smiled. "You've made a whole village."
"That was always the point," Aveline said quietly.
They stepped into a large common room where several adults worked side by side. Some mended clothes, others prepared vegetables at long tables. A man stirred a pot over a hearth while humming under his breath. None of them looked idle—and none looked desperate.
A woman noticed them and straightened. "Mistress Evora."
Aveline nodded in greeting. "How are things?"
"Good," the woman replied without hesitation. "Two new families arrived last week. One of the fathers has already been placed with the bakery down the street. The mother asked to stay on here—she's helping in the kitchens."
"Has it been too much?" Aveline asked.
"No," the woman said firmly. "It's manageable. The children help where they can, and they're learning quickly."
Everett leaned closer. "These workers don't look afraid or timid in front of you," he murmured. The employees at the shop would always be vary whenever Aveline or Everett visited, always on edge. Not the people here, though.
"They weren't allowed to be," Aveline replied. This wasn't an office or business where people had to stand at ceremony to greet her. This was a home.
They passed a smaller room where younger children sat in a circle, listening wide-eyed as an older girl read aloud from a picture book. The girl stumbled over some words but kept going, determination written across her face.
In the back garden, herbs grew in neat rows. Several teenagers worked the soil under supervision, learning how to tend the plants properly. Food, labor, learning—it all fed into itself.
Everett folded his arms. "You know," he said slowly, "most places would've turned this into charity. Using money to get things ready. Instead, you have people working on things themselves"
Aveline's gaze remained fixed on the children. "Charity ends when the giver leaves."
"And this?"
"This teaches them to stand."
They lingered until dusk, speaking with caretakers, answering questions, and receiving reports. To the children, Aveline was not a distant benefactor. She was a familiar presence—quiet, observant, always listening.
************************
The far side of Haven's Hearth was quieter, bordered by a stretch of open ground where the children rarely ventured without supervision. Aveline and Everett made their way to the three children, the only ones there, greeting them and discussing trivial things. It was here that Tomas stood, wooden practice sword resting against his shoulder, eyes fixed with a seriousness far beyond his age.
"I've decided," Tomas said. "I want to be a knight."
Everett raised a brow. "That's not a light decision."
"I know," Tomas replied immediately. "That's why I'm saying it now."
Aveline watched from a short distance away, arms folded, saying nothing. She had learned long ago that some choices needed to be spoken aloud before they could truly exist.
Everett studied Tomas for a moment, then reached for one of the training swords stacked nearby. "Show me how you stand." While he was more known for his talent in business, Everett was equally skilled in the sword, if not more.
Tomas straightened, feet shoulder-width apart, grip firm but tense.
Everett circled him. "Too stiff. If you lock your body, you'll break before the blade does." He tapped Tomas's shoulder lightly. "Relax. Strength doesn't come from force alone—it comes from balance."
He demonstrated, shifting his stance just enough to show how weight should be distributed. Tomas copied him, adjusting inch by inch.
"Good," Everett said. "You might actually become a knight. That path isn't mine to give. But I can probably find someone to teach you the basics—discipline, awareness, how not to die in your first real fight."
Tomas's eyes shone. "Seriously?"
A few steps away, Aaron sat cross-legged on the grass, palms turned upward. Faint threads of mana curled around his fingers, responding sluggishly to his focus.
"I don't want a sword," Aaron said without looking up. "I want to be a mage."
Aveline glanced over. "You already walk that path."
Aaron nodded. "But I want to understand it. Control it. Not just react."
Aveline approached then, crouching beside him. "Magic isn't about power," she said softly, twisting mana thread along her fingers as Aaron watched. "It's about intent. The clearer your will, the cleaner the spell." She clenched her hand and opened it again to reveal a flower made entirely of mana. She passed it to Aaron, his entire hand engulfed and bound the moment he touched it, disappearing soon after. Aveline smiled at him as Aaron tried mimicking her magic.
Aaron swallowed and closed his eyes again, the threads tightening, growing steadier. "Then I'll make my will strong."
He might actually be good at puppet magic, Aveline thought.
Lina stood near the doorway, hands folded neatly in front of her apron, watching the scene with quiet warmth. When Aveline noticed her, she gestured her over.
"You're awfully quiet," Aveline said.
Lina smiled. "I like watching them dream."
Everett snorted lightly. "Dreaming is easy. Living up to it isn't."
"I know," Lina replied. "That's why I'll stay here. Someone has to make sure they eat, rest, and don't burn themselves alive."
Aaron cracked one eye open. "I'm very careful."
"You set your sleeve on fire yesterday," Tomas said without turning.
"That was once."
Aveline laughed softly, the sound rare but genuine.
For a moment, Haven's Hearth felt exactly as it was meant to be—not just a refuge, but a crossroads. A place where children didn't simply survive, but chose who they wanted to become.
And for Aveline, that was worth more than any empire's gold.